


Festival Fail

by starzandstrip3s



Category: Batman (1966), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Bad Jokes, Bad guy On Vacation, Batman Adventures, Batman References, Best Friends, Comedy of Errors, Drunken Shenanigans, Festivals, Hangover, Hide and Seek, M/M, Miami, Side Story, Summer Vacation, Undercover Canadian, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 04:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starzandstrip3s/pseuds/starzandstrip3s
Summary: Forget Vegas, Miami holds stories of its own that are hard not to share.After a heavily intoxicated game of hide and seek in the early morning, Johnny and Marco must find their tickets to the music festival they have been desperate to attend, while also searching for the will to get through the day that never has a dull moment.(The referenced story in "Pledge" and prequel to "Something Just Like This")





	Festival Fail

**Author's Note:**

> We have danced around this story for far too long in other fics, so it's time to actually share what went down.
> 
> Comment "Aye Aye" if you are a pirate, too. Or, if you have any ideas for Marco's last name that can be used, as we're still debating!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Meg & Kate

 

**_JOHNNY_ **

 

“What the _fuck_ are we gonna do!”             

 

“Calm down.”                              

 

“I am calm!” Marco shrieks, grasping his face with stiff fingers that frame his wild expression. He begins to flail around the room, as I hold a hand over my mouth.

 

He notices and stomps over to me, jabbing a finger into my chest.                  

 

“You think this is funny?”

 

“I’m a bit nauseous, man.”        

 

Marco squints at me, calling me out a moment later. I feel fine, maybe a little disoriented from being yelled at first thing in the morning. Besides that, my friend is the one who may need a diagnosis or two. For such a chill guy, he goes all out when it’s something he considers worthy. As if he buries his worries like a little Filipino squirrel and loses it once being reminded he has a worry to worry about.  

 

“Bullshit. Tell me where they are now.”

 

Rolling my eyes, I drop my hand to gesture around the trashed hotel room. In the corner of the room, the lounge chair has been tipped over and is supporting the fallen curtain rod and its drapes. Clothes from our suitcases are thrown over every surface, my shirt from last night closest to me on the nightstand lamp. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles are strewn across the hardwood, some hidden under my mattresses currently halfway on the floor. That’s all I see just from one scan. Overall, it appears to have been an interesting night. Too bad I can’t remember most of it.  

 

“As if I could find anything.”

 

“Johnny, the first act of the day is starting soon!”  

 

“Yeah, and?”

 

“Let me spell it out. Because, you obviously need me to.”

 

Taking a deep breath, he adjusts his stance and holds his hands up like he is explaining something incredibly obvious to a toddler.  

 

“Miami’s _Rockapolooza_ festival, the one we saved up for these past few months, is starting in just over an hour...and we don’t have a clue where our tickets are. Tell me why this is not a problem.”        

 

“I mean, there are only so many hiding spots we could have chose from. How hard could it be?”

 

“This is serious, not some sort of game,” he frowns, lifting my mattress to peek underneath. Satisfied that our prize is not there, he drops it with a muffled thud. I begin picking up clothes from the floor, tossing them into a corner of the room to clear space.

 

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to play hide-and-seek with them at three in the morning. Pretty sure that's a game.”

 

Marco is just about to argue some more when we hear my phone vibrate from somewhere nearby. I only have to walk a couple steps over to the TV cabinet and open the drawer to find it, the screen lit up with a FaceTime request.

 

“It’s Ethan,” I state over my shoulder, “Can you act normal right now?”

 

“Text him back and say you’ll talk later!”

 

“But I’ve been forgetting to text him back for a couple days now! He just wants to know we made it here alive.”

 

“Well, he’s going to _kill_ you once finding out how much money you lost.”

 

I ignore him and force a tight-lipped smile before accepting the call.  

 

“Hey! Sorry for not keeping in touch, it’s been non-stop,” I start, walking to the foyer of the room. “You managing without me?”      

 

He’s sitting at the kitchen island with his coffee, raising an eyebrow at me as he takes a sip out of the mug.    

 

“Funny. Yes, I’m fine, just doing my own thing here. I’ll let you know if anything exciting happens - your choice if you want to acknowledge it.”    

 

I grin at the screen, his jab putting the last few minutes on the back-burner. It’s a nice break, even if Marco would disagree.

 

“I’ll try my best to fit the excitement into my equally exciting schedule.”

 

“I’m flattered.”

 

Just as I attempt to make an excuse to hang up, he cuts off my thought process.

 

“Is Marco around? It would be rude not to say hello to him, too.”

 

“Uh,” I begin, tilting my head back to find him. He’s currently crumpled up on the floor, inside a protective circle of toilet paper. For once, it is eerily silent as he stares wide-eyed at an M&M laying nearby.

 

“He says now is not a good time, but thanks anyway.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

“Mhhm.”

 

We say nothing for a moment, but I can tell he’s definitely thinking something as his gaze flickers up and down his screen. Trying not to give myself away, I return his puzzle-face with what I hope is another _doing all good_ smile and not a _holy shit please hang up_ one.   

 

“Is everything alright? You seem off,” he observes, resting his chin on a fist.

 

“Just distracted as usual,” I joke with a laugh, that comes out a bit high. I clear my throat quickly, before adding, “No need to worry.”   

 

“If you say so.”

 

“Yeah. Um. I should get going, but will let you know how it all went later. I swear.”

 

He gives me a thumbs up, a pale thumb in contrast to the fitted black sweater he is wearing. Glancing down, I realize I’m sporting one of Marco’s t-shirts on backwards, which is severely wrinkled from being shoved into the suitcase.

 

“If not, I’ll see you in a few days,” he replies, giving me a wave. I do the same, before ending the call.

 

Walking over to Marco, still in shock on the floor, I pick up the candy and pop it into my mouth.

 

“C’mon, the tickets aren't going to find themselves.” 

 

 

**Marco**

 

I take a deep breath, leaning back on the closet behind me. After shovelling through everything in the room, we’re still out of luck. Yet, he remains insistent on trying again.  

 

“But, we’ve looked _everywhere_ , Johnny.”

 

“Obviously we haven't, they would’ve been found in here.”   

 

The final couple words he says raises a question in my head, and I can’t help but think out loud in a hushed voice, as if that would make my guess less of a possibility.   

 

“Wait. You don’t think..”

 

We both stare at the door in front of us, just as someone with a vacuum passes by. Yanking open the door, I look in both directions before nodding to him.

 

“Go check out that way,” I instruct, nodding to my left.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he counters easily, heading to the right instead. He pokes me as he passes, and I swat his hand away before going the other way.    

 

I don’t know what it is with him. Something bad always happens when we get drunk. And, okay, even though I’m always involved in the mess that happens, I at least try to figure something out when sober. But, with Johnny, it’s like there isn’t a care in the world, that everything will be _all good._ But, what if it’s not all good? What if something else happens, even worse then this. Would he still be tossing jokes out of his pockets with a smile?       

 

As I make my way to the end of the hall, I notice that the family passing me are giving me weird stares. Like, they know and are judging me without saying a word. Maybe they’re totally in on what is going on. That would explain it.   

 

_Look at that guy, kids. That ticket-less, chubby, especially sad loser. See all that sweat? That’s just his body crying all over._

 

Now that I think about it, it might just be that I’m just a disgusting mess. It’s with this thought that I remember being called “Sweato Sanchez” in high school gym class. Not by my friends, but by the slightly racist coach who thought I was Latino until my senior year. My last name isn’t even Sanchez.   

 

Good times.     

 

Approaching a vending machine to grab a water bottle, I insert a few coins from my back pocket. As I’m waiting for the bottle to drop a thought comes to mind.

 

What if the tickets were shoved in the vending machine?

 

I toss the flap up and feel around for tickets, until the bottle falls on my hand a comical beat later.

 

Swearing and yanking it out of the hydrating death trap, I inspect it for injury so I can blame it on Johnny later. I can’t help but feel like sulking when finding nothing.  

 

“Hi, any luck?”

 

I look up, Johnny sauntering over to me with phone in hand.

 

“Nope. I’m guessing same goes for you.”

 

He shoves the device into his jorts back pocket, relaxed as ever. Like we’re talking about the weather, taxes, or whatever else normal people aren't fazed by.

 

“Yeah, but I had a cool idea when looking through last night’s unhelpful pictures for leads.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

He puts an arm around my shoulders as we begin walking the other way towards the main staircase.

 

“Just leave it to me, buddy. Nowhere is restricted if you act like you belong there.”      

 

 

**_Johnny_ **

 

After taking a minute to scan the lobby for the tickets and find the security office beside the front desk, it also took a bit of time to convince my temporary partner to simply stand outside the door. I mean, all he would need to do is stall and distract if needed. Maybe dive behind a potted palm tree if it all blew up. The last obstacle, what I was most concerned with, was to get past the locked door with a pin verification pad. I had Marco help me out with that, too, by telling the woman at the front desk he saw a suspicious guest outside, who may be stealing drinks from the bar countertop. He also asked if any lost tickets had been returned, and was given a definite shake of the head from my viewpoint. Once the security guard was paged down to check the cameras, I lingered near the door while watching what he punched in out of my periphery.                   

 

4-2-7-6-5

 

I probably could have avoided this whole set-up by just asking the front desk to check the cameras for where we went on our shenanigans last night, but it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to bring it up if nothing has come to their attention yet. Besides, it would just be a quick trip in-and-out, no harm done besides the superficial.

 

I’m just putting in the password into the computer to login, helpfully the same as the keypad, when he sends me a text.

 

_find anything?? i think the girl at front desk starting to get freaked out with me still hanging out here_

 

No warning, so I go on without replying just yet with the screen unlocked. Just to prove to him that I’m paying attention, but am choosing to ignore it for a moment.   

 

It takes a few minutes of Waldo hunting skills to find us on the first camera at the end of our hallway and so on. I guess we stumbled out of the room at around 3:40AM, before heading down the back stairs towards the front lobby. I shift through other angles until I find where we exited a minute later. I’m just about to track further when my phone glares awake again.

 

_ABORT ABORT GOLIATH COMING BACK_

 

Now feeling the adrenaline kicking in, I tap back an instant reply with one hand as I log back out with the other.

 

_Got it_

 

Quickly glancing around, I notice there are not many places to work with. I could dive under the desk, but being spotted would happen right when walking in the door. No emergency exit. No filing cabinets. No supply closet or whatever.    

 

What kind of office is this?  

 

Just as I’m thinking about making the spot under the desk work in my favour, I hear the keypad being pushed outside, three beeps so far echoing on my side.

 

With a restrained groan, I follow my gut and swiftly run to press myself behind the door and wait. Feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket over and over, no doubt Marco watching from down the hall, I smother the sound with my hand. I reach in my pocket and flick a switch off with my thumb, and the humming stops as the keypad lets out a final chime.   

 

This is why I don’t usually bring my phone with me on late night outings. Only when I need to keep in touch with whoever. Taking distant pictures of other rogues getting their ass kicked to save as my wallpaper. Playing trivia when waiting for a target to show up and I get bored.   

 

Y’know, essential things.  

 

I see the handle press down below and try my best to melt into the wall, the door swinging back towards me as appropriately named _Goliath_ earthquakes into the room. The metal slab reaches my side, and I take my chance to slip out the opposite way.

 

Or, at least I would if I could move.

 

Wait, I’m moving.

 

How am I moving!?

 

Looking down, I see the handle has gotten snagged in one of my belt loops and is dragging me forwards. Meanwhile, my hulking, thankfully un-noticing friend has sat in his chair without seeing the slapstick gold behind him.

 

I reach down and attempt to wrestle my way out of the trap before the door closes as heavily as it opened. It’s stuck pretty good as I heave and tug, my freedom slowly slipping away while also being pulled closer to it.

 

Is this how I’m going? Calendar Man, defeated by a _door handle_? This is also why I don’t wear a belt with my pants after midnight. It’s like heroes and capes, but a lot more pathetic.    

 

Just as the door is about to close, the loop escapes. I jam my foot into the space and squeeze myself through the opening, not looking back with held breath as the door clicks shut. However, walking away, I do look back repeatedly as I make my way to the front desk down the hall. I’m feeling pretty smug about my close-call getaway when the thought is pushed out by the soft wall I run into.    

 

“Where were you?”

 

I freeze, but then glance over to see Marco rubbing his shoulder with a relieved expression.

 

“Trying to get out?”

 

“Well, maybe you should be lookout next time. I could probably ninja roll myself out of there in half that time,” he complains, but the corner of his mouth pulls into a mocking crease.  

 

“Ninja roll,” I repeat with a surprised chuckle, tilting my head to consider the move. “Out of any move, why that one?”  

 

“What’s wrong with ninja rolling?”

 

“It’s a bit tacky.”

 

“You mean _classic_!”

 

I shake my head, continuing my route back to the front desk as he walks with me.

 

“Trust me, stay away from that one.”

 

“Hey, I saw Riddler do that on live TV one time.”

 

“Yeah. Tacky. Just like him.”

 

I don’t know the guy that well, as he’s a lot more _out there_. In both ways of saying that. In passing, I might have seen him once when first starting out, but that’s about it. Gotham is kinda like high school, since there are groups and all that. Riddler is part of the more popular crowd you can say, for whatever reason. This doesn’t mean that Ethan and I are just as separate from other bigger rogues, as we know a few others more closely despite staying on our own sides. Riddler’s a genius, I’ll give him that. However, I don’t have to be on the scene to know that on a personal level, he can get on the other’s nerves sometimes with that loudmouth ego and genuine obsession of puzzles. It can be a bit much, to say the least.  

 

Marco sits on one of the foyer spots, an expensive cream armchair.  

 

“Whatever. So, where we going next?”

 

“Not too sure, I didn’t get as far as planned.” I pause, scrunching my nose at the floor in thought. We _did_ come down to this level right after leaving the room, though.”  

 

“That doesn’t help much.”

 

“Hey, you never know,” I defend, scanning the lobby for opportunity. “Okay. We got the restaurant, library-”

 

“I got the restaurant.”

 

“Are you sure? You’re not looking so good.”

 

He grins at me, then faking a pout.

 

“Hey, I’m not the most handsome guy in-”

 

“I mean, you’re looking kind of pale and clammy.”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then opens them wide.

 

“Lost track after my third drink, makes sense now that I think about it.”  

 

Considering the strong breakfast aromas that can be sensed from all the way over here, I start to lead him away from the restaurant by the arm.

 

“That’s probably not a good idea, buddy.”

 

He shakes me off, and after another minute of arguing, I give in and let him just do what he wants.

 

“Fine. I’ll go check out the library.”    

 

Marco sticks out his tongue, heading off to the restaurant at the other side of the lobby.   

 

“Yes, I’ll take four-hundred for _things Johnny thought he would never say_ , please.”       

 

 

**Marco**

 

Inside the restaurant, it’s a bit busy with its breakfast rush.

 

Looking around, to the right of me is a huge counter of food with metal covers, the rest the room a sitting area around the perimeter with creepily elegant looking table cloths that hover above the marble floor. A type of clean that makes you uneasy just to breathe on them, a feature that should have been put on that travel site when we were booking the hotel. The hotel is a few blocks away from the outdoor venue, and we were basing our choice on location. We’re so disgusting and low maintenance that anything more than the bare minimum makes us feel like we’re giraffes in a mausoleum...I think that’s how that saying goes.    

 

I stroll down the buffet, trying to look as casual as possible as I lift up each lid. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if I found the tickets shredded up as garnish in some vegan omelette. Trendy attempt at being organic or something. Since it, like, came from the trees. Getting back to nature, whatever that means.

 

I consider all this and more as I chew on a piece of bacon, before moving on to check the rest of the spread. Before moving on to the tables, I grab a plate and fill it with a few pastries as props for my next idea.

 

“Oops. These danishes are runners,” I joke to a couple after subtly tipping my plate while passing them. They give me a polite nod while I crouch and peak under their table and the one behind them, the light streaming through the windows giving me a clear view.

 

Nothing.

 

Moving along, I do this routine every handful of tables or so. To give me more time when picking stuff up, I even break up a danish into small bits in advance.

 

“Sorry guys, it’s been a _long_ morning!”

 

“Clearly,” a man next to me in a suit mutters into his water-glass, the blonde across from him giggling as she carves her stack of pancakes.   

 

It takes me a good twenty minutes, and I think I’m starting to make the staff lingering by the kitchen door anxious and the guests more annoyed. But, I’m confident that this space is clear. Only the back kitchen is locked for the night after the tables have been cleared and chairs stacked. As crafty as we are when sober, I doubt we could break into anywhere if we can’t even remember each other's names sometimes when wasted. Just to confirm that my performance wasn’t needed, I give in and ask one of the waiters if they found any tickets when setting up. I get a relieved _nope_ , which I think was honest once he realized that I’m just an out-of-the-box problem solver and not a creep with butterfingers.      

 

I glance out the restaurant windows, out into the courtyard as I make my way back to the foyer. It’s quite nice, a large patio with massive palm trees and tropical flowers surrounding it. Aqua lounge chairs placed all around with matching striped umbrellas. The bar is wedged right outside the doors, right across from the-    

 

 _No._   

 

 

_**Johnny**_

 

Libraries have always been one of the last places I would choose to go willingly. The last time I remember being into reading was a textbook from my history class during my freshman year of high school. Even then, it took something really specific to get my to sit down and grab my attention. I try not to think about the past a lot, so that could explain the whole reading thing now.    

 

Anyway.   

 

I’m just skimming an interesting section of a book I found on the aftermath of the Cold War when Marco comes barreling into me, grabbing my shoulders.

 

“Dude! We need to go outside! _Now_.”

 

Flipping the page, I glance up.

 

“I knew the restaurant was a bad idea.”  

 

He drops a hand, plucking the book from me and throwing it up on a shelf.    

 

“Listen. We still need to go out on the pool deck. Don’t you remember?”

 

“Remember what?”

 

“You don’t remember!”

 

I look down at him with an amused roll of the eyes.

 

“And yet you’re the lightweight.”     

 

“We took our room card with us, and let ourselves outside!”

 

I blink.

 

“Come again?”

 

“It’s probably hidden on the pool deck. It came to me when I was leaving the restaurant just now.”

 

We both turn to stare out at the full patio across the hall and out the large glass doors, suddenly more wary than ever. There’s not much that can be said to make things better, or just to say something at all. Instead, I just state what my brain can come up with at the moment.

 

“Well... _shit_.”       

 

 

 **Marco**

 

We run out to the back patio, taking in what we have to work with. Seniors bobbing in the shallow end of the pool, a group of preppy older men making dad jokes at the bar, a whole flock of screaming kids splashing each-other in the deep end, a couple of women doing yoga by the diving board.

 

Johnny spins on his heel and heads toward the shallow end to search, so I head in the opposite direction.

 

My stomach churns when pushing my way through, but I ignore it. The best that I can, at least. I’m kind of a baby when it comes to feeling gross. Zoey likes to mock me about that, since she has an immune system probably made out of the equivalent of bullet-proof glass for germs. It be nice if she were here right now, to keep me focused on this long-ass quest.

 

Searching across the way, Johnny is not having any more luck, but is probably doing better than I am. He’s crawling by the hedges, looking between the leaves and thorns.

 

From the deep end of the pool, the kids get louder with excited voices, making my head start to ache a bit on my right temple.

 

After another minute of not seeing anything by this row of lounge chairs, I make my way over to him on the other side.

 

“Need some help?”

 

He sighs, standing up and rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“I think we’ve done all we can.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“We can try going back inside and search the cameras again,” I offer, “Maybe Goliath can be of help this time.”

 

“I guess, but-”

 

“So close this time!” a little girl from the pool triumphantly yells to her friends after coming up for air.

 

Johnny faces me again, crossing his arms.

 

“So, gameplan. We call up the 1-800 number that is on the festival’s contact page, and explain the situation.”

 

“Uh, okay. Hi there, just calling because my friend and I got super drunk last night and lost our non-refundable tickets from a game of hide and seek. Let’s see how that goes.”

 

“Of course not. We’re going to call and say that they were stolen at the hotel we are staying at.”

 

I consider the idea, then make a gesture to get him to go on.

 

“Okay. We then make up some sob story, I’m talking _Sarah McLachlan commercial_ sad-”  

 

More splashing surfaces from the deep end, a shrill voice crying out, “Why does it say  _Rockapolooza_?” 

 

We freeze, whipping our gaze over to the little kids over in the deep end. Johnny strides over to them, and I jog to keep up.

 

“Hi guys, sorry to interrupt - very important question for you..what’d you just say?” he asks the group, not sure who it was who screeched out.       

 

A boy with a bucket-head haircut pipes up as he treads the water.

 

“What is what I just said?”

 

A couple of the girls hide smiles behind him.

 

“Yeah,” Johnny confirms lightly, “You were talking about _Rockapolooza_ , right?”

 

Another boy, a year or so older with missing front teeth swims up to the ledge.

 

“There’s paper at the bottom of the pool with that written on them!”

 

“Oh God,” I mutter, staring down into the water.

 

“My mom says that saying God is a swear word,” another girl by me stage-whispers.

 

Where are all these kids coming from, anyway?

 

“Really?” Johnny beams, really getting into his detective work. “How do you think they got there?”

 

“I dunno!” the missing teeth kid laughs, “They’re just stuck at the bottom in a plastic bag with rocks. Maybe it’s sinked treasure!”  

 

Johnny looks over at me with a mischievous grin and sparkling eyes. It’s probably a look that makes Ethan hopeful and mushy inside, but it just makes me curious of what's being plotted.

 

“Well, what a coincidence. That’s my lost treasure, mind if I go get it to show you?”

 

 

**_Johnny_ **

 

The kids are all asking me a million of their own questions as I toss my shirt, or rather Marco’s, at him. I’m thankful for at least sleeping in my own shorts.

 

“What are the papers?”

 

“How big is your boat?”

 

“Where are your eyepatches?”

 

“Do you have a telescope?”

 

“Are you the captain?” a girl with blonde pigtails yells out, pointing at me.

 

I give a little bow towards her, giving a wink.

 

“I am!”

 

“What’s your captain name?”

 

I’m just about to offer some cool swashbuckling answer when Marco sits down to put his feet in the pool and cuts me off.

 

“Captain Morgan.”

 

Her eyes light up and she splashes with gleeful innocence.  

 

“And this is my first mate,” I add with a raised brow, “Smirnoff.”  

 

Once we get the kids to clear a spot and give me hint of where to dive, I get set to do a flip as one of them requested. Just as I’m about to do my running start, one that I know will get me a warning whistle from the lifeguard, Marco leans in to whisper something to me.

 

“Make it quick, I’m not feeling...feeling....”

 

I glance at him, and he makes an apologetic face as he sways on the spot.

 

“I’ll be real quick, it’s all good. Just put your head between your knees or something.”

 

Narrowing my eyes at a specific ripple of the water, I sprint to the edge and propel myself up and over. I hear the group cheer, then a distant shrill, before I enter hands first and become swallowed by bubbles.         

 

 

**Marco**

 

I sit down again on the ledge of the pool, propping my chin up on my knees. Watching Johnny swim to the bottom, I concentrate on everything but the rolling of my stomach that is quickly rising up my throat.  

 

Fuck, what’ve we gotten ourselves into? Actually, what have _I_ gotten myself into? Hungover and sitting with a bunch of orphan children, as my best friend dives to rescue tickets in a sandwich bag full of rocks at the bottom of our resort’s pool. 

 

The kid with the bucket haircut swims up to me, pushing himself up and out of the pool to sit beside me.

 

“Do you like being a pirate?”

 

I continue staring down, now counting backwards from one hundred in my head.

 

“I _said_ , do you like being a pirate?”

 

Pausing to glimpse over at him, I give a shrug before getting back to my strategy.

 

“...It pays the bills.”

 

Apparently, just opening my mouth for a second is enough to send a hand flying to my mouth. I swallow a couple of times, but that just makes my mouth water even more.

 

Any adult would take that moment as a cue to leave right then and there, but my little sidekick isn’t that observant just yet.

 

“I would love to be a pirate,” he muses, splashing the water with his feet. “Because, you get to find lots of gold, use cannons, go to sleep whenever you want, sing songs about mermaids...find gold...”

 

He doesn’t shut up, not like I can hear him anyway. Right now, I’m just pleading with whoever is up there to be on my side for a few more minutes, until Johnny comes back.

 

Dear sir...madame....supreme overlord?

 

Um.

 

If you could, not let me make a scene right here and right now, I would appreciate it. I know I could be a better person. Doing things like recycling more and maybe donating regularly to that kickstarter that restores abandoned Blockbusters, so-     

 

Forget the praying, speak of the devil and he shall appear!

 

“Got it!” Johnny proclaims with a gasp, above the surface and holding the baggie in his fist.  

 

I’m so excited by this turn of events that I choose that moment to throw up in the pool.           

 

 

**_Johnny_ **

 

It takes me a second to realize what has just happened.

 

But, when it clicks, I never have swam so fast in my life.  

 

Bucket head is yelling out “Abandon ship!” and making bell noises, the other kids screaming and gagging out of the pool.

 

Meanwhile, the lifeguard is ordering everyone out in between blowing their whistle and clearly panicking. I think I see one of the seniors in the shallow end trip on the stairs, and can’t help but wince in reaction before climbing out myself.

 

Marco is still heaving into the pool, spews of yellow and green coming out like the world’s most hideous fountain. Not knowing what else to do, I grab him around the middle and start dragging him into the bush behind us.

 

“Shiver me timbers,” he manages to choke out as I back up to give him space for a moment, then hiccups and continues his thing.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to puke?” I grimace, looking away to the disaster we left behind.

 

“I told you I wasn’t feeling good!”

 

“I didn’t think it was _that_ bad!”

 

The pool deck is just about clear, but the lifeguard is still by the back doors and is now talking to a couple of presumably other staff members with radios.

 

“Do you want me to fetch first aid or something?” I offer, kneeling down in front to put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“No, I’m fine. Really,” he answers, before heaving next to my shoes.

 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

 

A minute later, I’m about to give another option when it seems like he’s slowing down a bit. He’s just moaning to himself on his back, looking up glossy-eyed to the treetops above.  

 

“Marco,” I singsong to him, just to make sure he’s not in a coma.

 

“Polo,” comes the muttered reply.

 

“Are you going to live?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

I pretend to analyze him, flicking him between the eyes with my finger.

 

“I’ve been through a lot worse, so I think you’ll live today.”  

 

“Tell me about it?”

 

“Not the point, just know that your time isn’t up yet.”   

 

Holding up the sandwich bag in front of his face, I give it a shake.

 

“Besides, look what you have to live for!”

 

Marco coughs, then rolls his head to the side to spit out more hangover barf.

 

“Great,” he deadpans.

 

We sit quietly for a moment, just the sound of voices from across the pool deck filling the space.

 

“I understand if you’re not up to going today, y’know. We still have a couple more days to check the festival out before flying home.”

 

He turns to me, making a face before sighing.

 

“That wouldn’t be fair. Especially after all we went through to find the tickets.”

 

“It’s okay, man. Now that they’re found, we can do whatever from this point. And as captain, I propose a break after this adventure. Just in case you’re not done exploding.”

 

Marco shuts his eyes, throwing an arm over his face as the sun moves annoyingly overtop the palm trees we were just shaded by underneath. He hums as he considers the idea one last time, before nodding.  

 

“Okay, I’ll give in.”

 

“Not an acceptable answer.”

 

“What?”

 

“Agree like the goddamn pirate you are!”

 

“Oh,” he replies with a tired grin, “Aye aye.”      

 

 

**Marco**

 

Not long after being dragged into the bush, we sheepishly made our way back to the patio doors. I leaned on Johnny the whole way, still feeling out of it, but we somehow made it back to the room without getting stopped by germ police or something. Maybe the staff were still in such a grossed out state of shock that it was easier to just let us carry on. Whatever the reason, it made my lingering migraine a little better.  

 

The room was still untouched when we got back, probably for the same reasons as mentioned if someone came in. I was prepared to try my best and help clean up, but Johnny argued me into laying down while he took care of it. He’s just finishing it up now, standing on the desk chair to put the curtain rod back into place. Once satisfied, he jumps down and looks from one end of the room to another.

 

“Not bad, what do you think?”

 

Lifting my head off the pillow, I do a quick check before flopping down again.

 

“That works. You missed cleaning up that stain on the throw rug, but not much can be done there.”

 

He glances down at the white faux-fur rug in front of the TV, a noticeable brown splotch in the far corner. I can see the gears turning as he bends down to roll it up, then carries it over to the coat closet to chuck it up on the shelf.

 

“And here I thought you were so considerate,” I joke, referencing to the hotel room he has spent an hour tidying up.

 

“Even saints like me reach a limit, my friend.”

 

We spend the rest of the afternoon chilling in the room, talking, watching a couple of rented movies. Johnny starts complaining about wasting away near dinner, so I give him some money to pick up some pizza a couple streets away. Overall, it’s a good time. I’m relieved that by the time the sun is setting, the two slices in my belly have not resurrected. A good sign, considering I had been nursing a ginger ale from the vending machine all day.

 

I’m resting my eyes at the moment, cocooned in the fluffy beachy comforter, as Johnny talks to Ethan on the other bed.

 

“Oh, yeah. Not much going on here,” he comments, picking at the track pants he changed into after giving the room a much needed makeover.

 

He pauses, then snorts.

 

“Definitely. Uh, no, Marco wasn’t feeling that good this morning, so we decided to just leave the festival until tomorrow.”

 

I smirk into the pillow at the half-truth, but give him some slack and continue pretending to mind my own business.

 

“I’m fine, don’t worry. We just got a little carried away with drinks last-”

 

He’s a quiet for a long stretch, and I’m just about to crack open an eye again when he speaks.

 

“Okay, I’ll let him know to do that.”

 

“Mhhm, promise.”

 

“What?”

 

He lowers his voice for some reason, and I roll over a smidge to hear better.

 

“Yeah, we’ll need just the stick. I’m thinking around 2AM, something like that.”  

 

Stick? He playing hockey at the dead of night or something? I knew he must be an undercover Canadian, he loves flannel. A dead giveaway.

 

Johnny lets his voice go back to his normal, always a _little_ too loud in volume way.

 

“So, will see you in a few days if I forget to check in on you.”

 

“Yup, sounds good.”     

 

“Love you too, bye.”   

 

He ends the call, tossing the device to the end of the bed and shuffling in place to lay down.

 

“What happens in Miami, stays in Miami.”

 

“What did he want you to tell me?”

 

He guffaws, rolling over to face my side of the room.

 

“That whatever I did, he doesn’t care. Wants you to know that _you_ should be in charge for the remainder of the trip.”

 

“That’s nice of him,” I confess, forgetting what else I was just thinking to ask.

 

He shrugs, a dopey smile in the corner of his lip.

 

“Ethan’s okay when he wants to be, I’ll give him that.”

 

I turn onto my back, drumming my fingers together like some badass mastermind.

 

“Hmm, what shall my first order of business be as...captain.”

 

“Ugh, forget what I just said.”

 

“First order of business,” I repeat, “Move on from this festival fail...as we’re going to be the first ones there tomorrow.”

 

“A little too ambitious, don’t you think?”

 

I clap my hands together a couple times, thinking out an answer that is probably one that will be more to his liking and that will actually work out if I’m being honest with myself.

 

“Mid-afternoon?” I offer.

 

“Aye aye.” 


End file.
